


O that you were yourself!

by toujours_nigel



Category: Shakespeare in Love (1998)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toujours_nigel/pseuds/toujours_nigel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While this might not be exactly what you asked for, I couldn't resist inserting Marlowe into the story. Hope you like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O that you were yourself!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aurilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/gifts).



“Master Shakespeare.” Viola, happily investigating the sludge this tavern attempts to pass off as ale, chokes slightly, and then staggers forward under the force of Ned’s slap to the back. Ned disapproves of _sissy boys who look like their balls haven’t dropped and forget their steps, and Will, are you sure he’ll do as Romeo?_

 

“Mister Marlowe,” he says, tries to push her unobtrusively behind him, but she chokes again, and squeaks something that sounds terribly awestruck.

 

Kit notices. Kit notices most things. He wonders whether there’s any truth to the rumours of him being a spy, some days. “Who’re you hiding, Will?”

 

“This,” he says, and if it’s with something of a flourish, it cannot be helped, “is Thomas Kent.” He thinks I’m better than you, he carefully doesn’t say.

 

Kit, smug son of a whoreson, takes Viola’s—Thomas’—hand in his, and smiles slow and expectant, and entirely too much like he knows something the rest of them don’t. “Romeo in your comedy?” Can he see the swell of her breasts under doublet and shirt and linen?

 

“Yes.” He knows, the way Kit is smiling, that he’s reacting all wrong—so Kit is running his thumb over Thomas’ hand, so what?—and tries to bring from between his teeth his words. “But I grow unsure of Ethel.”

 

“Why,” Kit asks, raises his mug to his lips and laughs to find it empty, “have Sam’s balls dropped?” They laugh dutifully, and Viola—Thomas—pulls from his grip with a smile and hurries back to his side.

 

“No,” he says, while Kit—armed with yet more ale—shoots him a too-disconcerting glance, “the name itself.”

 

“What’s in a name?” Kit laughs, and drinks.

 

Kit, he knows later, must think him a very fool that night, for he has lost his mastery of words, and barely even listens to Kit—who does not know that Thomas thinks him not best, and would perform better, anyway, did he so—because he glanced down, when Viola—Thomas—came to rest beside him, and seeing her through Kit’s hungering eyes is reproof and revelation.


End file.
